


Boxer Briefs

by wattermellen



Series: 1000 Word Reflections [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Boxer Briefs, M/M, Marijuana, Second Person, a little noncon touching, laying in bed, not porn!, self reflections, shower scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 08:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11528433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wattermellen/pseuds/wattermellen
Summary: It's easy to think too much. You need to take a shower.





	Boxer Briefs

The color of his boxer briefs was, at some point, the color of your eyes. They were bright and full of life and ready to be used and, while you're aware that relating yourself to your boyfriend’s underwear is odd, find is much like yourself. Your body is worn out and tattered and well used, from the scars that decorate your skin like your beau’s tattoos do for his, and looking at the way he continues to wear clothing that should just go into the bin, you think you're the same to him. You think you're worn out of all reasonable extents and he wears you for the familiar fit. 

The smoke in your bedroom is heavy and lays over you like a fog. When you sit up to let your head rest on his chest, halfway curled around him so your upper leg can bend and lay across his hips, you're no longer breathing in his used high. It's funny what the little change will do to you. You can hear the lazy beat of a dying heart under his chest, the shifting limbs and gangly fingers that rub over your hip, your side, then up over your shoulder to drop into your short hair. He tangles the licks of your hair like he's weaving a wicker basket from your willow tones. Your head keeps to where it had been, your fingers moving from the blankets that needed a desperate wash to slip over the sharp, jutting bone of his hip to feel the curly beginnings of a happy trail.

As your fingers curl down and your blunt nails scratch into dark skin to leave little white, dusty wakes, you feel the grunting growl under your head before you hear it with your open ear. The previously soft fingers in your hair twist, knot, and pull you off your comfortable spot over his lanky form. Your eyes close and your body remains limp and only a familiar garment to a man who had no other use for you. You're only comfortable to him, you're only something he doesn't need to put in effort for. It seemed he took your abrasive act as an offer, and he really, really loved offers. 

Thin lips and sharp teeth find their way down your sensitive neck and your collarbones, but as they follow your center line down to your stomach, your navel, and just under the curve of your belly, it has you twisting in discomfort. You can tell he wants to just pin you and have his fun, but you don't think you're going to let him wear you. Yes, it was comfortable for you, too- for a long time. Longer than he knows. Longer than you know, too.

But it's easy to untangle yourself from his highed arousal and you take advantage of this without a blink of your eye. Just as quickly as he had rolled over onto you, you're out from under him to shuffle your feet along the cold floor to find anything that would cover you up. For the moment, you choose water. The man follows behind you in what you think he assumes as a continuation of your offer, but shut the door in his face with a sharp glare and pursed lips. He doesn't try after that, and you feel no guilt. You almost wish you got his spindly fingers in the slam, really. While that thought makes you ease off your tension, you still don’t quite find yourself regretting thinking it. Instead, you cover yourself with cold water that was likely ice in the pipes that flows to burning hot in the matter of a couple minutes. It's a dramatic change, but it feels nice on your back and it relaxes your tense muscles. You don't do more than let it consume you for the time being, let it raise red from under your caramel skin and make you know that you're more alive than you might have thought before.

Turned around to let your front have the same therapy, this doesn't last as long as your other side had. You don't like being sprayed in the face, as much as you like your skin being covered in warmth. You lean against the cold tile of the bathroom wall and let the goose skin tighten around you, holding you like a morbid blanket of your hot and cold enjoyment. After a while, you do what you know showers were made for and soap yourself up. The suds ease from your rather pudgy fingers and your short nails that don't ever manage to make it past your biting anxiety, off your forearms to swirl around your feet. They sink down your front and your middle, catching at the hair of your crotch and between your still marked inner thighs. It's an intimacy with yourself that is almost nauseating. 

Your shower is an hour and a half, something you translated from the pounding on the door. The handle is tried, and when discovered unlocked, you get the pleasure of being snapped at directly. Your bare, suddy body catches his attention and he relaxes, but he still stayed short of temper. You won't try to remedy it, because you know that hardly ever works. You'd rather let him stay mad. You're out of the cold stream of water soon after he leaves you at peace, and your weak knees almost tempt you to lay on the floor and rest in the towel.

You know how much of an invitation that would look like, though, and you refrain. Your hair is rubbed of suds and water and things you likely haven't had enough time in the shower to wash out, but you won't be going back in for another couple days. You can only handle so much self reflection.

Instead, you pull a clean set of pajamas on and join your boyfriend on the bed where he can smoke and stroke your body and you can listen to his dying heartbeat.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you have any ships I can add to my 1000 word series!


End file.
